


the kind of love i've been dreaming of

by akosmia



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Biting, Dubious Consent, F/M, I'll tag it just in case, Kinda?, Light Dom/sub, Mentions of Blood, Praise Kink, Smut, Vampires, but otherwise he's very consenting, it relates to the fact that ben's a little dumb and he hasn't realized his gilfriend is a vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24775570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akosmia/pseuds/akosmia
Summary: He lets out a deep, shuddering breath and then looks her in the eyes when he asks her, “Are you a vampire?”Rey stares at him blankly, blinking at him as if deeply puzzled by his words, and then proceeds to look at him as if he’d just uttered the most nonsensical sentence he could ever come up with on such a short notice.He feels like an idiot – what kind of deranged lunatic asks his girlfriend if she’s avampire?Then, just as he's about to tell her to ignore all of it, she speaks. “You're realizing itnow?”-- or: It takes Ben five months to realize that his girlfriend is a vampire, but he's surprisingly okay with it.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 76
Kudos: 468





	the kind of love i've been dreaming of

**Author's Note:**

> Listen.  
> If you follow me on twitter, you probably know I've spent my quarantine re-reading The Twilight Saga for the first time ever since I was 14. Was it a wise decision? No. Were there better ways to spend my time? Probably yes. Do I regret it? Definitely not. So this is what this re-read has done to me. It has made me write about vampires. It really be like that sometimes, uh.
> 
> You're probably going to ask me, "But Faith, how do vampire work in this story?", to which I'll reply, I don't know. I have no idea. I'm not here to give you a coherent mythology, I'm here to write about Ben getting absolutely railed by his vampire girlfriend *shrugs* Also, I'm sorry about the wordcount. I tried not to write too much but I... well, you know me by now.
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank all of you for all your wonderful support. You really made this lockdown more bearable with your comments and your presence and I will forever be grateful to be part of this community ♥

To be completely upfront, he's got to admit he's been a little bit distracted. 

The thing is, when it comes to Rey – his girlfriend of five months and possibly love of his life though the word _love_ has yet to be uttered out loud –, it’s not like he doesn’t pay _attention_. 

He does. He can’t help to, when she’s so awfully _entrancing_ , almost as if she had put him under a spell. 

He’s memorized the way her smile leaves dimples in her cheeks. He’s learned to know the little frown that spreads on her face whenever she’s focused on something. He’s familiar with the patterns of freckles that dot the bridge of her nose, her shoulders, the outline of her breasts and even the inside of her thighs –a luminous trail he loves to follow, pressing his mouth to every little freckle he finds on his way. 

There's not a detail he’s not paid attention to. 

And it's not like he doesn't _know_ her. Learning to know her, unveiling the mystery of Rey Niima – that's his favorite thing in the universe. Every little detail he learns about her only makes him want to know _more_ , as if she were a book of poetry he keeps finding new meanings in.

He knows she comes from Jakku and that she's an orphan who had to fend for herself from a very young age. He knows this has made her incredibly willful and determined and so endearingly strong, but also terribly fragile at times, especially at night when he wraps his arms around her and she allows herself to be vulnerable. He knows it doesn't come easy to her, so he cherishes those precious moments and vows to himself to spend the rest of his life making her the happiest she's ever been. 

He _knows_ her. He pays _attention_ to her. 

But the thing is – she’s _distracting_.

She’s – well, she’s Rey. The first time he ever saw her, he'd felt like the world had been tilted on its axis. The moment he'd glimpsed her, he'd finally understood what his favorite poets were talking about, when they talked about love at first sight. 

She’s a whirlwind of vibrant, lively energy that comes barreling toward him and steals the air from his lungs and it’s hard to focus on anything else, when she’s around. It feels as if someone had taken the sun, with all its blazing strength, and nestled it in her small body, and every time she smiles at him, he's bathed in a golden haze that makes him forget about everything else. 

So what if she runs a little bit cold sometimes when she burrows into his side as they sit on his couch? It gives him the perfect excuse to hold her close and snuggle up to her, littering her forehead with small, fervent kisses. So what if she tells him she doesn’t like the sun that much and they mostly go out at sunset? He doesn't like the sunlight either – he's so pale he gets sunburns even in _winter_. It's not exactly an effort, to avoid it. So what if she barely sleeps at night and he's rarely seen her eat? 

So what if sometimes, when he’s so blissfully deep inside her and she’s rocking her hips above him in that delicious way and she’s clenching around him so perfectly, she leans in and _bites_ into his pulse point? It's not even painful – instead, the first time she does it, after she's asked him of course, he comes harder than he's ever come in his life and it takes him a whole five minutes to come back to reality, a languid feeling settling in his bones for the rest of the night. He can't exactly _complain_ about it. 

Anyway, she might be a little weird sometimes, but it’s not like he loves her less. 

In fact, he thinks it only makes him love her more. 

✨

It’s a weird morning, when realization strikes. 

He usually doesn't sleep in, but today is somehow different.

By the time he wakes up, he's dazed as if he'd slept for a few centuries, instead of a grand total of five hours, more or less. It takes him a few tries to blink his eyes open and when he manages to, the alarm clock sitting on his bedside table reminds him he's gonna be late for work if he doesn't hurry. He thanks the heavens he left Rose the keys to the bookshop last night – at least she'll open it and he won't have to worry about it. 

He drags himself out of bed with a groan and his head swims a bit as he lands on his feet, but he supposes it's because he's running on little sleep, thanks to the woman snoring loudly in his bed at the moment and the sinful things she likes to do to him. 

His eyes fall on Rey for a second, even if he knows he's running late. He can't help himself, though – it's like she compels him to look at her, even as she lies on her stomach, her arms safely wrapped around her pillow, her head buried underneath the mess of comforter and blankets, avoiding the sunlight streaming through the window. 

It's a rare thing to see Rey sleeping.

In the months they've been together, he's learned she's more of an early bird. By the time he usually wakes up, she's already in his kitchen, perched on the stool at his kitchen island like a cat, with her eyes glued to the pages of one of his books and a cup of coffee ready for him. It usually tastes awful but he doesn't have it in himself to tell her, especially when she hands it to him with such a radiant happiness in the back of her eyes that makes his heart _burst_ in his chest.

He doesn't mind those mornings – the smile she gifts him as soon as she notices him is bright and wonderful and incredible and she kisses him so _sweetly_ as he walks up to her, lacing her arms around his neck to bring him closer with such a languid warmth that his insides start to do funny things, and he wouldn't trade all of this for the world. 

And yet, he likes the lazy mornings in which she stays in bed the best, because he can bury his head in the place between her neck and her shoulder, inhaling her flowery scent and pressing soft kisses to her skin that never fail to make her giggle.

He does his best to avoid making any noise as he rummages through his closet now. It takes him longer than he'd expected to find something to wear, his eyes still fluttering shut every now and then, and by the time he's finally dressed, one quick look at the alarm tells him that he doesn't have the time to make himself decent and he can only hope his hair is doing okay and his stubble isn't too evident.

 _Whatever_ , he thinks. Rose and Poe will probably tease him, but he's come to the conclusion that they'd tease him no matter what, so it doesn't really count. 

He's just about to leave, when Rey stirs.

She does it with the effortless grace of a feline, stretching her long, delicate limbs, and he finds it oddly _endearing_ , as she yawns and rolls around, with her bed hair and the oversized t-shirt she's stolen from him. She looks so utterly _mundane_ and _beautiful_ – the duality makes his heart kind of twist and he stops dead in his tracks even though he should get moving.

“ _Ben_ ,” she murmurs, patting his side of the bed as if looking for him. She looks so adorable and _perfect_ it takes him a conscious effort to stop himself to just call in sick and let Rose handle the shop for the day. “Where–what–”

Rey slowly blinks her eyes open, then searches for him. Her face breaks into the softest smile as soon as she sees him, as if immediately reassured by his presence, and his heart flutters in his chest. It never gets old, the fact that she looks at _him_ like that. Her smile turns even softer if that’s possible, as if she'd heard his rapid heartbeat. 

“Hey,” she greets him, gently. “Did I fall asleep?”

She says it as if the thought of sleeping at night came as a foreign notion to her, which is not unusual when it comes to Rey, but it still worries him sometimes.

“Yeah, you did,” he replies, sitting on the bed right beside her legs, even if he knows he doesn't have the time for this. Still, his hand comes to brush a few wisps of hair away from her forehead and smooths her skin when a confused frown takes hold of her face. “Why are you acting so surprised? I'd say that sleeping at night is pretty much the norm.” 

Her lips curve in a smirk and her eyebrows rise up. “Maybe for you,” she replies. Then, she melts into his touch as his hand slowly travels down to brush lightly against her arm, and hums softly. “I can't remember the last time I slept through the night, before you came around. Probably a _century_ ago.”

He lets out a little chuckle, then bends down to press a tender kiss to her forehead, her skin cool to the touch as always. “Well, maybe I am a positive influence.”

She hums again. “Mh, maybe you are,” she tells him. “You should stay in so we can test that theory.”

Then, before he has the chance to step away and go about his day, she loops her arms around his neck and brings him down in a kiss and–

It always comes as a surprise, kissing Rey. It feels as if his brain couldn’t quite get used to this – to the way she wraps her arms around his shoulders and sinks her hands into his hair, to the way she coaxes his lips open and gently bites down on his bottom lip, drawing a low whine from him and sending jolts of pleasure down his spine. The touch of her tongue is electrifying, when it traces the seam of his lips and brushes against his. He feels like dying and coming alive every time she kisses him, as if his body wasn't meant for this kind of pleasure.

Before he realizes what is happening, she's pushed the blankets away from her body and she's climbed into his lap, straddling him and effectively pinning him down to the mattress as she starts to rock above him, slowly. The t-shirt of his she usually wears when she spends the night has ridden up and all rational thoughts fly off his mind the moment his hands come to grip the soft skin of her thighs, eliciting a small, wrecked sound from her he drinks right from her lips.

It's only when she starts trailing kisses down his throat, lingering at his pulse point, that his eyes fall on the alarm clock and he realizes–

“Shit, I'm late,” he says, even if he makes no move to get up. He should get up, shouldn't he? He's got a bookshop to run. Instead, he tightens his grip on his girlfriend's thighs and slightly rocks his hips. She nips at his pulse point in response, which. Not helping. “I should go–”

She hums against his skin as her hands travel down to the hem of his sweater and slip beneath it, brushing against his naked skin. Her fingers are cool as usual, but the touch of her skin against his abdomen is _scorching_ , leaving a burning trail behind. 

“You could call in sick,” she murmurs, then, as she trails up his throat to press an open-mouthed kiss to the soft spot where his jawline meets his neck. Her voice is a rough, low thing against his ear. “You work so _hard_. You deserve a day off.”

It would be easier if she weren't punctuating every word with a slow, maddening roll of her hips. 

Despite his better judgment, one of his hands slips beneath her t-shirt to knead her breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers and tearing a moan out of her.

“I can't call in sick,” he replies, then, as if he weren't rocking up into her at the very moment. “I am the owner.”

Her deft fingers take hold of the hem of his sweater, and she tries her best to divest him of the garment. He complies, mindless of the fact that he spent an obscene amount of time just trying to put it on a few minutes earlier, and raises his arms to help her in her endeavor. He's rewarded by the burning kisses she starts to litter down his chest. 

Her teeth come to nip at his collarbone, eliciting a small sound from him, something between a whimper and a moan. “Then what's the point of being the owner if you can't take a day for yourself?”

Words. He’s known words before. He owns a bookshop – he must have _read_ words at some point. And yet, they all elude him the moment she starts to rock her hips more insistently, grinding down on his cock. He barely realizes he’s gripping the hem of her t-shirt, but at some points it joins his sweater on his bedroom floor, and by now it's hard to remember how to talk, especially as she's writhing in his lap wearing nothing but her panties. 

Still, he valiantly tries. “I'm not sure it would be a sensible business strategy–”

She raises her head from the crook of his neck, where she was busy sucking a bruise, just to give him a _look_. Her eyes are deep and dark with desire, and he shivers, nervously. There's something feral in the way she _wants_ – sometimes he almost feels like a prey. 

It sends a thrill down his spine, fear rushing through him along with pleasure. 

“Ben,” she says, weirdly serious. Her voice is hoarse, low. It does _something_ to him. “I would very much like if you fucked me senseless right now. Is that alright with you?”

If he weren't hard he'd be now. As it is, he feels his cock twitch, almost desperately. 

He gulps, then nods. “Yeah,” he replies. His hands come to rest on her hips, eliciting a pleased sigh from her. “Yeah, that is very alright with me.”

And then, he flips them over and presses her into the mattress. Her teeth come to graze at his pulse point. 

He doesn't spare the alarm clock another glance.

✨

By the time he finally walks into his bookshop, the sun is high in the sky, he's even more tired than earlier and he's late by almost two hours.

Both Rose and Poe are at the counter when he walks in, bickering over something he can't quite catch, but as soon as they notice him, they raise their eyes just to _look_ at him, so intently he thinks they can read everything that has passed in these two hours right off his face, as if it were a very open, very explicit book.

“So,” Rose starts, raising her eyebrows. They are almost at critical-height, which means he's in trouble. He gulps, because everybody knows that being afraid of Rose Tico is a sensible thing to be. “You're alive.”

Poe just smirks, knowingly, which somehow makes it even worse. 

He runs a hand through his hair, then rests it at the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he replies, pressing his lips together. “I am. Sorry, some sort of emergency came up and–”

Poe's smirk gets even bigger and more knowing, which shouldn't be possible but somehow it is. “Your sweater is inside-out,” he announces, as proudly as he'd be if he'd just told them he'd won the Nobel Prize for Being Loud and Annoying.

It takes him a moment to understand him, then Ben looks down and realizes that his best friend is right – that in his haste to dress himself and run to his bookshop as if nothing had ever happened and he'd just showed up fifteen minutes late with Starbucks, he'd somehow wore his sweater inside-out. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, like the idiot he is.

“Must have been a hell of emergency,” Rose comments, which elicits a snort from Poe.

“Shut up,” he murmurs. A flush spreads on his face as he grabs the hem of his sweater and pulls it off for the second time today, thanking whatever deity had looked upon him earlier and made him wear an undershirt because he was running a little bit cold as he snuggled Rey.

He's about to turn the sweater inside out and wear it again when–

“Holy _shit_ ,” Poe exhales, at the same time Rose breathes out a stunned, “What the _fuck,_ Ben?”

Honestly, coming to think about it, it's not even an unusual reaction when it comes to him, but at least he usually does _something_ to elicit this kind of commentary, which feels completely unprompted now. 

He rolls his eyes, then looks at his two best friends with what he hopes is an offended expression, because, frankly, he does not deserve this shit right now. He's deadly tired and he knows he's late, but it's the first time in years he takes a few hours for himself and, okay, maybe showing up late for work because he wanted to have sex with his girlfriend is not the most professional thing he's ever done, but it's not like they have the moral high-ground here. He used to drag Poe's half-naked, unconscious body all across campus whenever he got too drunk in college. 

Ditching work for a few hours to fuck his girlfriend seems like a reasonable slip, after all.

“What?” he asks, raising his eyebrows. He pulls his sweater down his frame, then raises his hands as if to plead innocence. “I didn't even do _anything_. I'm just _standing here_. Look, I'm sorry, alright, it won't happen again.”

But Poe and Rose seem to pay no mind to his words, because they are just looking at him. And looking. And _looking_ . Honestly, he's starting to get self-conscious about it – he isn't even sure they ever _looked_ at him as much in all the years they've been friends. 

He wonders if he turned into a giant cockroach on his way to the shop. “ _What_?”

Poe clears his throat, his gaze flickering between his face and the collar of his sweater. For a moment, Ben thinks he's about to tell him he dresses like an old man again. “Uh, Ben–”

“Have you looked at yourself in the mirror this morning?” Rose interrupts him. 

He blinks, confused. “No. In case you haven’t noticed, I was running late.” He stares at the two of them, wondering what the _fuck_ is going on. “Why? Is my hair that bad?”

Rose shakes her head, never tearing her eyes away from him. “No, uh–” Her voice falters and she clears her throat. “Your hair is fine, you just–” 

“Is this about my stubble?” he continues, bringing a hand to his jawline as if to feel his skin underneath his palm. It stings a bit, but it's not something that would grant him the wide-eyed, slack-jaw look they're giving him now. “I wanted to shave but I woke up later than usual and then Rey–” he trails off, blushing. "I mean, there was this emergency–”

They don’t even tell him they both know his emergency was Rey. It’s getting a little concerning, honestly.

“No, Ben, this is not about your stubble–”

“Then what is it? Did someone draw a dick on my cheek with a Sharpie or–”

“Ben, you look like you got attacked by a fucking wild animal,” Poe cuts in. 

His words take him aback and he finds himself blinking at his best friend, because _surely_ he's heard him wrong. 

“What?” he asks again. In a desperate attempt to make sense of those words, he looks down at his body, as if to make sure he's still in one piece, which is a pretty dumb move because if he'd been mauled by a wild animal, he's pretty sure he'd notice. His eyes fall on Poe again. “What are you talking about? I am fine.”

Poe lets out a strangled sound and opens his mouth, but before he has the chance to utter even more nonsense, Rose sighs.

“Wait,” she says, then searches through her tote bag hanging next to the counter and emerges a minute later with what looks like a compact mirror. “Here. Look at it yourself.”

This makes no sense at all, but he grabs the mirror Rose is handing him almost automatically. He opens it as he mutters under his breath something about how his best friends have apparently lost it and he's about to tell them they need to get their eyes (and maybe their brains) checked when–

“What the _fuck_ ,” he breathes out. 

He does _not_ look like he was attacked by a wild animal – that was Poe being dramatic as usual, but there's surely something weird about the bruise forming at his pulse point. It's red and angry and it looks almost _bloody_ , its edge a purplish-yellow tone that makes his stomach churn unpleasantly, and when his fingers come to brush against it, he lets out a groan at the sudden surge of pain. 

“What the fuck,” he repeats, as if to reinforce the concept. 

His fingers skirt around the edge of the bruise, mindful not to touch it. It's dark, even more against his usually pale complexion, and it almost looks like someone had left a mark on– 

It finally dawns on him. “ _Oh_.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rose arch her eyebrows again. “What?” 

The thing is – he never planned to have _this_ kind of conversation with his friends. Of course, he trusts them and he'd give his life for them and he's pretty sure they'd do the same for him and all that jazz, but trusting them is one thing, and telling them his sex life is a little bit kinkier than they'd imagined is another, and there's no way he's ready for that. 

How do you tell your best friends that your girlfriend usually bites you during sex and that you enjoy it very, _very_ much? Is there, like, a protocol for something like this? Does he need to follow a script or fill out a form or anything that will spare him the mortifying ordeal of looking into their eyes and saying, _Oh, it's no big deal, it's just something me and my girlfriend usually do during our quality time together, and oh, by the way, have you checked that new Thai place just around the corner? Amazing, isn't it_? 

“It's–Uh– It's fine,” he manages to croak. He can't stand their gazes, so he stares at the closed compact mirror in his hands as if it were a new piece of technology he couldn't get enough of. “It's nothing.”

“ _Nothing_?” He can hear the bit of hysteria in Poe's voice as it turns high-pitched and cracks on the word. “Ben, you look like someone used your throat as a snack to chew on as they watched the game.”

He blushes even more. By now, he's pretty sure he could solve the world's pollution problem using the heat he's currently generating as some form of renewable energy. 

“No, it's– it's fine, no one has chewed on my throat,” he murmurs, then he thinks about Rey nipping at his skin as he fucked her into the mattress and he lets out a strangled sound that he tries to mask with a cough. “Not like that, at least.”

“What do you mean, _not like that_ –”

“Oh my God,” Rose breathes out, bringing her hands to her mouth. He cringes in anticipation, because of course, leave it to Rose Tico to figure out what’s going on. “Oh my God, Ben, is this about _Rey_?”

He wants to die. He wants the ground to open beneath his feet and swallow him whole. He wonders if hurling himself out of the window would spare him the rest of this conversation or if they'd still ask him questions about it even as the paramedics would drag his broken body toward the ambulance. 

He nods. “Yeah,” he manages to say, even if he doesn’t know how, since all his brain is offering him at the moment is the Windows error sound. “She– We– It's a thing we do and– Look, it's completely consensual, alright, don't get ahead of yourselves, she's not _attacking_ me. And it usually doesn't look like that, I swear, I guess we got a bit carried away–”

“ _Carried away_?” Poe exhales, shocked. “Ben, that's– that's one hell of a hickey.” And then, he proceeds to turn his world upside down by adding, sarcastically, “Are you sure your girlfriend isn't a vampire?”

He knows Poe is saying it as a joke. Of course he is. No one in their right mind would ever say something like that _seriously_. 

And then, it _hits_ him. 

The cold. The sunlight. The fact that he's rarely seen her out before sunset. The surprise in the back of her eyes everytime she falls asleep at his place. The fact that she barely eats anything in his presence. The biting. The fact that he feels tired and languid and his head swims always a bit after they have sex. 

The angry, red mark he's got on his neck that looks like someone had sunk their teeth into his skin and drawn blood. 

Rey – his girlfriend of five months and possible love of his life – _is_ a vampire. 

And he's realizing it _now_. 

✨

The rest of the day seems to drag itself with the laziness he usually associates to holidays spent with his family, which means it feels like it never ends and he spends the whole time wishing someone would kill him and put him out of his misery. Also, he gets asked about his love life a lot. 

As soon as he gets home from work, he divests himself of his coat and does what any other millennial in their right mind would do if faced with the same situation – he makes himself a cup of tea, opens his laptop and googles _vampires_ , as one does. 

Thousands of results appear on his screen, and the tea goes lukewarm as he meticulously scrolls through every single one, weirdly focused as if he were researching for a paper and not, like, estimating the odds of his survival based on the amount of his blood Rey has drunk by now.

There's a variety of legends he never bothered with in his thirty years, but they mostly agree on some points, like the sunlight thing and, of course, the blood thirst. Without him noticing, his fingers come to brush against the mark she's left him. It hurts, but not as much as it did in the morning, and he wonders if it's already starting to heal. He wonders how come he never noticed it before in the first place, or why no one had pointed it out to him in the past few months. 

And the most shocking part is – he's never felt any _pain_. You _should_ notice if someone decides to sink particularly sharp teeth into your neck and suck your blood, shouldn't you? Instead, he's always felt… _good_. Every time Rey bites him, pleasure starts to lick up his spine, spreading into every inch of his body, incandescent and mind-blowing, leaving him almost empty when he comes back to himself. 

He's scrolling down the third page of results – which, as far as he's concerned, is basically deep web –, when his phone pings and he jolts on his spot, splashing his cold tea on his trousers. He curses and his stomach churns as soon as he unlocks his phone and reads the name on his notification. 

> **rey (5:45 PM):** _hey_ _u didn't text all day u ok???_

It baffles him, her use of abbreviations. A vampire shouldn't text like this, he thinks. It’s not fair. She should write in flowery prose and spell the words properly and use punctuation, for Heaven's sake. She shouldn't write things that sometimes take him almost five minutes to decipher. How is it possible that a _vampire_ knows more about youth culture than he does? 

His fingers linger on his keyboard for a few seconds, wondering if there's a code or an emoji for _Yeah, sure, I just realized you might actually be a vampire and now I'm freaking out about the odds of you wanting to kill me, but otherwise I'm completely fine and I miss you very much._ The corner of his lips twitches up in a smile when he thinks Rey might know. 

The worst thing is – he actually wants to tell her just that. He wants to curl up on the couch and rest his head on her lap and tell her about his day and let her run her hands through his hair in the soothing gesture he loves so much, letting all the weirdness of the day wash away as she showers him in her affection and listens to his rambling. She would – she's such a _good_ girlfriend. He'd never realized how much a relationship could make you feel better about yourself until Rey walked into his life and turned it upside down. 

But he can't tell her any of that. 

> **Ben (5:48 PM):** _Yeah. It was a busy day at the shop, sorry._
> 
> **rey (5.49 PM):** _oh babe i'm sorry, are u tired??? do u still want me 2 come over or do u wanna rest???_

Something in his chest _aches_ at the thought, as if she'd stabbed him and twisted the knife in the wound, because – because he can't help but _long_ for her.

Even now, as he wonders if she wants to kill him or at least drink all of his blood and whatever it entails, he can't help but _love_ her. She's the first person who ever made him feel _seen_ and _cared for_ – she's the only one who's ever listened to him, who's held him through his nightmares, who's pushed the hair away from his face and looked deeply into his eyes just to tell him she'd always be there for him. 

He's only human, after all. Quite literally. So he does the most human thing he can come up with. 

> **Ben (5.55 PM):** _No, don't worry, I'm okay. See you tonight, sweetheart. Miss you._

✨

He tenses the moment Rey rests her head upon his shoulders. 

It's a slip – he's so busy pretending that everything's alright that he doesn't notice his body having the best of him and tensing up as soon as she scoots closer to him.

He's been doing so _well_ up until now. 

He has greeted Rey with his best smile and a peck on her lips and he'd dutifully eaten the pizza she'd brought even if his stomach was in knots. He'd even let her choose the movie – a sci-fi opera he’d never bothered to watch before – and has sat on his end of the couch without being too weird about it ever since. 

Sure, he's jumped on his spot the moment Rey lunged for him, but it turned out she was just reaching for the remote, so everything was fine and under control. 

That is, until she leans with her head on his shoulder. 

The worst part is – he doesn't realize he's doing it until Rey raises herself and stares at him with a confused frown on her face. His first instinct is to ask her what's wrong and reassure her, because he can't stand the idea of Rey not being perfectly happy, but then he remembers. 

_Ah_. Right. 

Vampire. 

So he does the only thing you can do whenever you suspect your girlfriend of five months and possible love of your life is a vampire. 

He acts like nothing happened, staring at the TV as if it could solve all his problems.

“Ben,” she says, then, softly. Her voice is barely above a whisper, as if she didn't want to distract him from the movie. As if he were really watching it, and not spending the evening asking himself how many times a day vampires need to feed themselves. “Ben, sweetheart, are you okay?”

Instead of acting like any sane person would and confronting his girlfriend about it, he nods.

“Of course,” he says, mustering a surety he's never shown for anything in his life. “I'm just a bit tired, that's all. Long day at the shop, Poe and Rose kept bickering…you know, the usual.”

She tilts her head to the side, as she usually does when she wants to study him. When he turns into her direction, her gaze is so intense it feels almost _burning_ – it makes him wonder if she's trying to memorize him before he fades away. He must be – _nothing_ . No more than dust. If you have the whole eternity stretching in front of you, the average human life must look so _short_. He must be as ephemeral as a butterfly, to her.

Why does she even bother with _him_?

“Are you… _sure_?” Her voice is soft, just as soft as the touch of her hand when she comes to brush a few strands of hair away from his face. 

He startles at the contact, like the idiot he is, and she narrows her eyes. It almost feels like she’s trying to read into his mind, which he’s pretty sure she can’t do. Can she? It’s not like _Twilight_ , right? She doesn’t have, like, superpowers. He would have noticed.

Then, he remembers it took him five months in which she literally bit him to realize she’s a vampire, and decides not to rule out the possibility of superpowers.

“I’m fine,” he replies, but his voice sounds so high-pitched that it’s easy to pick up that he’s not fine at all.

Her lips twist in a grimace and she scrunches up her nose in that adorable way of hers that always renders him speechless. “You seem…. kinda _jumpy_ tonight.”

A brief silence follows her word. He gulps, painfully aware of the flush currently spreading on his face. His mouth opens, but the thing is – he doesn't know what to say. What do you normally say to your girlfriend when you suspect she's a vampire who's been drinking your blood for a few months? He just _doesn’t know_. He knows he isn’t great at human interactions, but this is a whole other level of fucked up and so he closes his mouth and stares at her, willing himself to behave normally.

Rey gives him a little, encouraging smile and her hand comes to cards through his hair in soothing movements, as if to reassure him, her fingers as cold as ever as they brush against the delicate skin of his temple. 

“You can talk to me, sweetheart,” she murmurs, softly. Her voice is as tender as one of her caresses, as if she were afraid of breaking him if she gripped him more tightly. Maybe she could, he doesn't know. There’s a lot he doesn’t know. “I am here.”

He knows she is. That's what made it so easy for him to fall in love with her – that fact that she was _here_ , when no one had ever been before. But he doesn't know where to even begin. _Don't worry, honey, I've just realized you might be a vampire but it's fine because apparently being scared is a huge turn on for me, who knew?_

Then, when he doesn't reply, her hand falters and she stops, abruptly, as if coming to a sudden realization.

“Is this about me? Do you–” She gulps, averting her eyes and staring at the wall behind his frame. She looks oddly scared and it surprises him, because what would ever scare Rey, fierce and incredible as she is? “Do you want me to leave?”

Oh. 

That, apparently. 

“No,” he replies, immediately, before he can stop himself, before he's even _aware_ of it. But he thinks about the possibility of Rey being a vampire and the possibility of Rey not being in his life, and he decides he already knows which one he can live with. “No, I don't ever want you to leave.”

Her eyes go soft, as if he'd just told her he loves her. Then, as he looks at her with a tentative smile, she takes his face into her hands and leans in to press a tender, hesitant kiss to his lips.

It's as sweet and soft as she is right now. She cradles his face as if it were the most precious thing she'd ever held and when she smiles into the kiss he feels his heart stop in his chest, then start to flutter against his ribs. All rational thoughts fade away and he doesn't care anymore – maybe she is a vampire, maybe she wants to drink his blood, maybe she'll end up killing him, but it doesn't matter anymore.

He loves her. 

He doesn't think he's ever loved anything before, not like he loves her right now, as if the idea of not loving were simply impossible for his mind to comprehend. 

His arms come to wrap around her small frame and then he gathers her against his chest and she comes willingly, climbing into his lap as if there wasn't another place in the world she'd like to be right now. When his hand finds its way to her face, she’s still smiling into the kiss and his fingers come to brush against the dimples he loves so much and his heart feels so awfully full, as if it could burst from feeling too much. 

“I'm sorry,” he tells her, when he breaks away from her just to breathe. “It's been– well, a really weird day. But you already made it better.”

The smile that breaks out on her lips is so dazzling he thinks he'll go blind. He thinks he can live with it. 

“I'm here,” she whispers, in response, as she leans in to press another kiss to his lips, feather-light and delicate. “I'll _always_ be here.”

He doesn't know why, but those words seem to soothe an ache in his heart he wasn't even aware of. He can't help but press his lips against hers, tilting her head backwards so he can kiss her even more deeply. 

From here, it's a blur. She keeps kissing him, but what had started as something sweet and tender and soothing quickly turns heated and burning. She coaxes his lips open and he complies, pliant and desperate underneath her, and soon his hands are slipping beneath her blouse to brush against the soft skin of her torso. His fingers skim over her ribs, come to count every notch in her spine.

She sucks in a breath against his lips, gasping at the contact. 

“You must be tired,” she whispers, then, against his mouth. Her words are a whispered thing, making his stomach drop. “We don't have to–”

A sound escapes his lips. He doesn't know if it's a whine or a moan or something in between – he's too far gone to care, too wrapped in her, too consumed with his need for her. He wonders if this has something to do with her being a supernatural creature or if this is just him, being desperate for the touch of her lips against his skin. 

“No,” he murmurs, fervently, as he starts to litter kisses down her face, her jawline, the soft spot beneath her ear. “I need you. Please. Please.”

She lets out a little breathless laughter and squirms in his lap, eliciting another high-pitched sound from him. Whenever she moves, she brushes against his clothed erection, making little sparks of pleasure start to climb up his spine. 

“Alright,” she says. There's that feral glint in the back of her eyes – but this time, Ben knows he's her prey and it surprises him, how much he likes it. His cock twitches, trapped as it is in the confinement of his jeans. “I'm here. I'm here, sweetheart.”

He throws his head back as he rocks up into her. He doesn't know what does it – maybe it's her words, the endearment, the soothing tone of her voice that's such a stark contrast to the way she's moving now. Or maybe it's the fact that she's grinding down on him and her skirt has hiked up and his hands have found their way to her thighs. He doesn’t know. He only knows he _needs_ her, so desperately he thinks he’s going to _burn_ if she doesn’t touch him.

They make quick work of their clothes. Her blouse falls to the ground with no ceremony, and then it's the turn of his sweater and undershirt, pooling at their feet in a small pile. There's a frantic urgency rushing through him when her hands come to brush against his naked chest. She lets her fingers explore his skin – the dip of his collarbones, the hard planes of his chest, his abdomen, the little trail of hair of his navel. He’s pretty sure he whines, but she takes her time to _know_ him, as if she wanted to learn him all over again – as if she felt the same kind of breathless wonder he feels every time he looks at her.

Then, as he surrenders to her and to the sensations she elicits, he feels a surge of pain when her fingers brush against his pulse point. Without realizing it, he jolts and stifles a whimper. 

She notices, of course. “Oh, _sweetheart_ ,” she murmurs, softly, her eyes falling on the bruise she left him just this morning. Her fingers rest at the base of his neck, mindful not to hurt him, and there's such a contrite expression on her face. “I'm so sorry, I forgot to fix it. You must be in pain.”

It's like being reminded, again, that there's a reality he can't ignore forever. He tenses again, his body going taut as Rey examines the bruise she has left on his skin and when she notices, she looks down at him with a confused frown. 

“Ben, what is it?” she asks him, gently. She brings a hand under his chin and carefully turns his face into her direction so she can look him in the eyes. She’s so genuinely concerned that his stomach drops again and he forgets how to talk. “Hey. Are you in pain? Please, talk to me, sweetheart. You can tell me everything.”

It’s a losing battle. He can’t fight the truth anymore – and just like that, the words he's been trying to hold back ever since this morning spill out of his lips. 

He lets out a deep, shuddering breath and then looks her in the eyes when he asks her, “Are you a vampire?”

If he’d thought this day had been as absurd as it could be, then he’s proved wrong once again, because apparently it hadn’t reached peak absurd yet. 

Rey stares at him blankly, blinking at him as if deeply puzzled by his words, and then proceeds to look at him as if he’d just uttered the most nonsensical sentence he could ever come up with on such a short notice. 

He feels like an idiot – what kind of deranged lunatic asks his girlfriend if she’s a _vampire_?

Then, just as he's about to tell her to ignore all of it, she speaks. “You're realizing it _now_?”

At that, he doesn't know what to say. 

He looks at her. He opens his mouth. He closes it. He opens it again and he realizes only after a few seconds that the low wheeze he's currently hearing must be coming from him. If he could peek inside his own brain right now, he's sure all that it would show him would be the cerebral equivalent of an error message. 

He closes his mouth again and clears his throat. “Wait, what?”

Her hand falls away from his face but comes to rest upon his chest, as if she wanted to feel his heartbeat underneath her palm. It doesn't escape his notice that they're both half-naked, which somehow makes it even harder to grasp the reality of what’s happening.

“Ben, I–” she starts, but then she shakes her head. “I thought you _knew_. I haven't exactly been hiding it. I just assumed you had picked up upon that without saying anything and that you were cool with it. I didn't know you hadn’t realized.”

At some point in his life, he must have learned how to talk. He knows this, because he’s somehow been able to communicate, more or less successfully, with his fellow human beings for the past thirty years. And yet, when he opens his mouth to form words, all that he manages to let out is another wheeze. He wonders if his brain is malfunctioning and, in that case, how he can reboot it. Do brains usually come with a reset button? 

Rey must notice his current state because she sighs and makes a little space between their bodies. “Ben, are you okay?” she asks him, softly. “I’m sorry, I genuinely thought you knew. I can leave if you want. I– I'll understand.”

He’s not sure he’s able to process words, but he hears Rey talking about leaving and that much he understands. 

“No, please,” he croaks. His voice sounds weird to his own ears. “Don’t leave. I just need a minute.”

At this, she presses her lips together and flashes him the hint of a tentative smile. “I can wait. I’m good at waiting.” Then, barely a whisper, “I’ve been waiting all my life for you.”

Oh. That, he understands. That elicits a reaction out of him. It’s a timid flutter of his heart, almost a shiver. He looks at her – soft eyes and gentle smile, her hand resting on the place where his heart is desperately trembling. She might be a mythological creature who thirsts for his blood, sure, but she’s also – she’s also _Rey_. _His_ Rey.

“So,” he breathes out, after a moment or a few years, he doesn’t know. Rey tilts her head to the side, as if awaiting for his verdict. “A vampire. It’s– wow. A _vampire_?”

The giggle she lets out is such a silvery sound, so beautiful he feels drunk on it. He’d go through ten existential crises just to make her laugh like that again.

She raises her eyebrows. “You really hadn’t noticed?”

Now that the truth is out there, he feels – oddly calm. Maybe it’s because he’s still processing it, but he doesn’t feel scared or paralized or anything he’d imagined he’d be if this turned out to be the truth. Instead, he feels weirdly _serene_. 

“Nope,” he says. Her hand is still splayed on his naked chest and it starts to trace gentle, soothing patterns against his skin. “You– Rey, you derail all of my thoughts. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of distracted when you’re around.”

Her eyes glitter from something he can’t name, but that makes him feel _warm_ all over. 

“That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever told me, but– Ben, how could you not realize? I even bit you,” she murmurs. Then, as if hit by a sudden realization, the playful expression quickly fades from her face and instead her eyes go wide, horror so easy to read on her delicate features. She brings both of her hands to her mouth and the rest of her words are a muffled garble. “Fuck, Ben, I even _bit_ you. I– sweetheart, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think– shit, I thought you knew, I’m sorry–”

He’s barely aware of what he’s doing, which, coming to think about it, sums up his life pretty well. She’s still rambling, when he wraps his fingers around her wrists and she only stops when he starts to bring her hands down in slow, careful movements. He’s hit by the realization that she must be ten times stronger than he is, and yet she’s letting him guide her without saying anything, her eyes fixed on his face, her lips parted without uttering a sound.

“Hey,” he murmurs, softly, when both of her hands are resting in his lap. He tenderly strokes the inside of her wrist. “What are you apologizing for?”

She looks at him through her eyelashes, then lets out a shuddering breath. “I bit you. Multiple times,” she reminds him, as if he weren’t already extremely aware of it. And yet, her gaze is so full of _remorse_. “You must have been in excruciating pain and you didn’t even know what was going on. Ben, I– I am sorry. I know it might mean very little to you, but I am.”

Oh. 

Never in his thirty years he’d imagined he’d end up on his couch with his vampire girlfriend sitting on his lap and telling him she’s sorry for having given him the best orgasms of his life nor that he'd end up having to reassure said vampire girlfriend that she didn’t, in fact, put him through excruciating pain. 

His face must be crimson by the time he manages to form a coherent sentence. “Rey. I wasn’t in excruciating pain. I wasn’t in any pain at all.” She frowns, confused, and opens her mouth, but he soldiers on. “It felt good. Really good. You must have noticed that whenever you bit me, I–” he trails off, pressing his lips together and shrugging, not really knowing how to tell her all of _that_.

She blinks. He’s got a feeling she does it just out of habit, but he’s not sure he’s ready to ask her that. “Oh,” she says. She doesn’t blush, but she looks like she _would_ , if she were human, which prompts a surge of tenderness in his heart that almost chokes him. “ _Oh_. I see. I noticed, but I didn’t– I hadn’t realized it was related.”

It seems like he’s trying his best to surpass a blushing limit he wasn’t even aware it existed. At least, now they know he can turn red enough for both of them. 

“Anyway,” he starts, because he doesn’t really want to discuss his kinks while his vampire girlfriend is straddling him. It’s already been a weird day. “How come I never noticed it before? I mean, I’m really distracted when it comes to you, but I’m pretty sure I would have noticed a big, bloody bruise on my neck.”

It happens so fast he barely realizes it. One second, he’s staring at her, the next she’s kissing his neck, pressing her lips down to the bruise. He yelps. It doesn’t hurt as much, but it’s still sore and even the gentle press of her lips makes him jolt, but then she – she comes to _lick_ it and the pain recedeeds. He shudders, and his cock twitches in his jeans. 

“There,” she murmurs, then, pulling away from him and staring at him with a small, satisfied smile that makes him kind of stupid in the best way. “I can heal vampire bites with my saliva. I swear I usually heal you when I bite you.”

Somehow, that’s not the weirdest thing he’s heard today, so he nods. “Oh. Makes sense,” he murmurs, even if he’s not sure if it actually does. 

She brushes a few strands of hair out of his face, her fingers so gentle against his skin. “Still,” she says, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry. I should have made sure you knew what I was doing.”

His hand comes to rest at the base of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. “It’s alright,” he murmurs. 

Then, he draws her in for a soft kiss that makes his head spin and his heart flutter in his chest. She smiles again in the kiss and he realizes she probably can hear the frantic beat of his heart. Somehow, he’s okay with it. He wants her to know. He wants to be _known_.

When he breaks away, he rests his forehead against hers. “So, just to be sure,” he starts, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t want to kill me?”

He says it mostly as a joke, but she’s weirdly serious when she replies. “Why would I ever want to kill someone I love?”

Apparently, she keeps surprising him tonight. 

His heart stutters in his chest at her words and he goes through it again, staring at her in disbelief as his mental gears come to a screeching halt for the second time in the span of a few minutes. Somehow, that’s the most unbelievable thing he’s heard all day and it takes him a moment just to grasp it. 

“Wait, what?” It feels like these are the only two words he's capable of today. “You _love_ me?”

Rey pulls away from him just to _look_ at him, almost surprised. “I told you I'm a vampire but _this_ is where you draw the line? Me loving you?”

He shakes his head in disbelief. “No, I just–” he trails off, then breathes out, “Somehow, it's easier to believe that you're a vampire. It makes more sense, at least.”

Her gaze turns incredibly soft, so much he feels almost on the verge of tears. He's not sure he's ever been looked at like that before. 

“Oh, Ben. Of course I love you,” she replies. She takes his face into her hands, cradling it as gently as she would with something terribly delicate. “Ben, you have no idea of how extraordinary you are. In all the years I’ve been alive, in all the centuries, I– I never felt like I _belonged_. Like there was someone who belonged to me and whom I could belong to. Someone who was _mine_. I thought– I thought I was meant to be alone. And then you appeared into my life and you were funny and charming and awkward and handsome and so earnestly vulnerable. You made me laugh and you made me feel _seen_. You made everything so beautiful and bright and I– of course I love you. How could I not?”

Oh.

He’s never – he doesn’t think he’s ever been someone’s, but he likes the idea of being _Rey’s_.

He blinks, then breathes out. “Oh.”

This is somehow the worst possible response to a love declaration he’s ever heard in his thirty years, and yet she _smiles_. It's such a tender smile – she makes him feel at _home_ with the way she's looking at him right now, and he never thought he could have this. Someone to call home. 

Her thumb comes to smooth the skin of his cheekbone. “You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

At this, something finally seems to work in his mind and he manages to open his mouth and let out what he’s pretty sure are words, even if he’s not totally aware of it at the moment.

“ _What_? Rey, I love you,” he says. It’s so blessedly simple – he never thought that loving someone could be so _easy_ , as easy as breathing, as easy as the beating of his heart. “I've loved you for so long, I just didn't want to scare you because it was too soon and–”

The words die on his lips the moment she lets out a little breathless laughter and he – he can’t do anything but _stare_ at her, because a laughing Rey is such an extraordinary sight he can't help but be a little bit in _awe_. When she leans down to press her forehead against his, he feels as if he's crashing right into a bright supernova. 

“Ben, I've been waiting for _centuries_ for you. It’s definitely not _too soon_.” She closes her eyes and breathes him in. Her eyelashes tremble against his when she tells him, her voice small, almost hesitant, "Can you say it again? 

How could he ever deny her? 

“I love you.” Her eyes are full of wonder when he says it, as if she couldn't quite believe it. He surges forward and presses another soft kiss to her lips, to reassure her that this is real, that he's here, just as she's here. “I love you. I love you, I lov–”

The litany of words falling from his lips only stops when she comes to kiss him. And oh, it feels electrifying, as if something was buzzing just underneath his skin, as if his body were too small to contain this kind of love, terrible and all-consuming, burning a layer through him. Her lips are sweet and soft when they brush against his, and yet demanding. Bruising, in a way. She kisses him as if she were starved for him and he should be scared, terrified even, but he only feels _loved_. 

He doesn't let her go when he pulls away to breath, even if he resents this human thing that forces him to part from her lips. Instead, he starts to kiss a path down her throat, littering her skin with hot, open-mouthed kisses that turn her into a quivering mess into his lap. He nibbles at the skin of her collarbones, bends down to graze at the outline of her breast, worships the clusters of freckles on her fair skin. He even lets his tongue flick against her nipple, still covered by the lacy fabric of her bra. 

“Oh,” she breathes out. Her hips shift ever so slightly and he feels a rush of pleasure course through him at the tiny movement. “So, just to be sure, you don't mind that I'm a vampire?”

His teeth come to graze at the soft flesh of her breast. “Rey,” he groans. “I love you. Everything else– it doesn't matter.”

He isn't prepared for the way she reacts. She tugs at his hair, almost violently, and crashes her mouth against his in a kiss that steals the air from his lungs and turns him mindless with pleasure. She's just as desperate as he is, as if being this vulnerable came with a burning need that they both can't hold back, and she comes to grasp at his hair, to claw at his shoulders, to roll her hips in time with his, stifling her moans against his mouth. 

One of his hands grips the soft flesh of her thighs, left uncovered by the skirt that's bunched up to her waist, and he helps her rock her hips, while the other slowly starts to climb up her spine, then, reaching for her bra. 

She's faster than him, though – and it comes with a rush of pleasure that feels almost electric, the realization that she will always be _faster_ and _stronger_ than him.

She manages to unhook her bra and his fingers tug at the straps, pushing them down her arms, until it joins the rest of their clothes on the floor. As soon as the bra falls away, he bends down to kiss a hot path down her chest, then comes to mouth at her breast. 

“So, if you don't want to kill me,” he starts, as his teeth gently scrape against her nipple just as he knows she likes it. “Why biting me in the first place?”

“That's– _oh_.” She tugs at his hair, her fingers gripping his strands as he flicks his tongue against her nipple. “That's a form of intimacy for us. That's– _fuck_ , Ben– that's– that's a way to be _close_ to you.”

Her words light a fire within his soul, as if it had flickered in recognition. As if it had finally discovered the purpose it was awaiting for. His mouth closes around her nipple, lightly suckin on it, and he’s rewarded by the way she cants her hips, almost feverish, her movements erratic and needy.

“Also–” She gasps when his teeth graze against her skin. Her grip on his hair is almost painful, and yet he relishes in it – in the way she loses control when he worships her. “Also, because I want you to know that you’re _mine_.”

The effect those words have on him – it’s like they rewrite his whole being. He’s hers. He’s never been anyone’s – no one has ever claimed him, because he was just this, this hopeless mixture of hope and longing and desperate yearning and no one had ever wanted him, and now Rey tells him he’s _hers_ and he– 

He pulls away from her breast just to bring his hand to the nape of her neck and draw her in a breathless, desperate kiss. He doesn’t know how to tell her all of that – doesn’t know how to tell her that yes, he’s hers, he’s never wanted to be anyone’s but _hers_ – so he kisses her, hard and fast and bruising and needy, one hand resting at the place where her neck meets her shoulder, the other placed on her hips, helping her move against him. 

“Fuck,” he murmurs against her lips, when it becomes apparent that he needs to breathe. Her chest is heaving too, even if he thinks it’s more out of habit than out of necessity and she’s – God, she’s _beautiful_ , messy hair and bruised lips and wide, dark eyes, the hazel completely gone from her irises, and he can’t believe he honestly thought this goddess was human. “Fuck, Rey. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours.”

Her hands slide down his chest in maddening paths, until they come to rest against the waistband of his jeans, which are becoming more uncomfortable at every minute.

“Always?” she asks him.

He can’t do anything but nod. “Always,” he replies, then gulps when her deft fingers start to unbutton his pants. “Even when I didn’t know, even when you weren’t there–” His words falter the moment she finally manages to work his jeans open and starts to slide them down his legs, with some difficulty due to their position. “I was always yours. I’ve been waiting for you my whole life and– Please, please–”

He inhales, sharply, when she brushes her fingers against his cock, up and down the length of it, in slow, exasperating movements. They’ve been together for months now and she _knows_ – she knows what he likes, what drives him crazy, what turns him into a trembling, quivering mess underneath her touch and she's doing this _on purpose_. 

“What is it?” she whispers. “Tell me what you want, sweetheart.”

The fucking _endearment_. He can’t explain the effect it has on him – his cock twitches and he feels tears start to well in his eyes and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, he can’t do anything but sit there and let her reduce to a boneless mess.

Suddenly, her fingers still, tearing a whine out of him. “Ben, sweetheart,” she murmurs, leaning in to press a gentle, soft kiss to the corner of his mouth that is a stark contrast to the things she’s doing to him right now. “Use your words. What do you want?”

His cock is so hard it _hurts_. He tries to arch into her touch, tries to get her to move, but – she's stronger than him, and he shouldn't like that, but instead, he grows even harder at the thought, a pleasure that borders on pain and turns him mindless and delirious. 

He’s sobbing, by the time he replies. “You,” he breathes out, tears at the corner of his eyes. “You, please, Rey, I need you, I need you so badly, please–”

Her free hand comes to brush away the tears and she silences him with a kiss. “Shh, I know, sweetheart,” she replies. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

The rest of their clothes fall on the pavement too. She raises from his lap just to push her skirt and panties down, letting it pool at her feet, and then she’s helping him get rid of his jeans and underwear, so quickly he wonders if she’s cheating using her supernatural abilities. 

Then, she comes to straddle him again, her hot center brushing against his cock and he forgets about that too. They both hiss at the contact and – God, he thinks he's going to _die_ from how good it feels. She's wet – she's wet and hot and perfect and he wants, no, he _needs_ to sink into her, to push home, to lose himself in her body, never to be found. 

He whines again. “Please,” he begs her, his chest heavy with sobs. “ _Please_.”

One hand comes to brush away his hair from his forehead, and then she cradles his face, oh so _gently_. His heart skips a beat in his chest. “You are so good,” she murmurs, then, leaning in to press a little kiss to his lips.

He’s barely aware of what he’s saying, but the praise makes his heart _soar_. “I am?”

In response, her other hand glides down his chest, her fingers feather-light against his skin, and then finally, _finally_ she comes to grip his cock. The pleasure is so intense he can’t breathe and when she starts to stroke him, he throws his head back and whimpers, pleasure starting to climb up his spine in licks of flame. 

“So _good_ ,” she repeats, pumping her little hand. "Look at how good you're being for me." 

It's a maddening torture. She strokes him _slowly_ , so slowly he feels like he's going to die if she just doesn't do _something_ , and yet he enjoys every minute, every little movement of her hand, every time her thumb comes to brush against the head of his cock, smearing the pre-come there. He's going to combust and he likes it. 

“Yes, just like that, my good boy,” she coos, her voice deep and gentle and so, so tender. He feels tears pickling at the corner of his eyes. “I can't believe you're real. Sometimes I'm afraid I've dreamt you.”

He wants to tell her she's got it backwards – that he's the one who can't believe she's real, that she’s a vision, a fantasy, something he conjured for himself. But words are lost somewhere in his brain and all that comes out of his mouth is a string of incoherent moans as she continues with her languid pace. 

“You're so sweet,” she goes on, her voice so soft and gentle, making something in his chest _ache_. “So wonderful. So open and earnest and genuinely _good_ and I– God, Ben. In all the years I've been alive, I never thought I'd get to have this. You.”

He thinks he’s going to _cry_.

“You have me,” he murmurs, his breath coming in short pants. “Always.” 

She lets out a whimper at his words and he can see through his lashes, the path her hand is taking – brushing against her breasts, pinching her nipples and then traveling down, down, until her fingers come to circle her clit. A moan escapes her lips, her hips twitching slightly, and he thinks – he'd _die_ for this. Her. Everything. 

“Please,” he finds himself saying, the only word he remembers by now. His eyes flicker between her face and her fingers, hungry and desperate. “Please, I need to be inside you. Please.”

Another moan slips past her lips and then she surges forward to kiss him, softly. It's such a tender thing, this kiss – as if it was their first one. A moment suspended in time as she strokes him and drives him mad with pleasure.

Then, she pulls away. Her hand stills on his shaft, but she raises her hips and guides his cock to her entrance and then – she sinks down on him and, _oh_. _Fuck_. She’s so wet he slides all the way in, impaling her in one swift move, and his eyes roll back and he feels – he feels like _everything_. Like this is the place where the universe begins, the blinding explosion of light that started time. 

“ _Oh_ ,” she breathes out. That's the part he loves the most. The moment when he fills her to the brim, when he can't feel anything but her wet heat, adjusting to him, clenching around him. There’s nothing but _Rey_ , all over him. On his body. In his mind. A handprint on his soul. “God, _Ben_. Can you feel it? Can you feel how good you are for me? How perfectly you’re splitting me apart and filling me up?”

He’s pretty sure he’s crying, but he nods all the same. “Yes,” he chokes out, as he rocks up his hips, eliciting a moan from her. “Yes, I can feel it. You– you always feel so good–”

Her hands come to grip at his shoulders, using them as a leverage to roll her hips in a slow, tantalizing movement. He slides in and out, so languidly he thinks he's going to _die_ before he comes. 

“You always fill me so well. I am so– so full of _you_ –” Her words falter on a particularly sharp thrust and she slightly throws her head back. “It feels like you were made for me– God, you– fuck, I’ve been waiting for you for so long, sweetheart. All this time, I thought I was meant to be alone but I was just _waiting_ – fuck, yes, just like that.”

His hands come to grip her hips and though he’s vaguely aware of the fact that she probably doesn’t need it, he helps her rock above him, changing the pace and turning it into something frantic, something that reduces him to a trembling mess and makes her quiver above him. He knows he won't last – there's too much stimulation, there's just so much to _feel_. There’s–

“Rey,” he groans, his hands sliding down on her thighs to rock her into him. He draws away, then slams back in, eliciting a cry from her. “Touch yourself. Please– I need to feel–” 

She does, before he can even finish his sentence. She brings her hand to her clit again and starts to rub it in tight little circles and _fuck_ , he can feel her clench around him and she feels – so perfect, always so _perfect_. He loves how wet, how tight, how warm she is – how easily he slips into her at every thrust, as if they were both made for this purpose alone, as if the universe had created them just to let them find each other across time.

What a cruel thing, to think that she’s had to wait for so long just for him to show up. 

And yet, she did.

All this time, all these centuries, all this pain, and yet she waited for him. 

“Rey,” he breathes out, suddenly overwhelmed by the realization. “Rey, Rey, please–”

She rolls her hips again and brings a hand into his hair, tilting his head backward so she can look at him. It's a bit rough – it's clear that her perfect control is slipping – and yet it only makes pleasure spark at the base of his spine. He’s going to come embarrassingly soon, and yet it feels so good to just _let go_. 

“What do you need, sweetheart?” she asks him. “Tell me.”

Before he knows, the words are tumbling out of his mouth. “Bite me.”

Her hips stutter and she stops for a minute, eliciting a whine from him. He tries to rock up into her, but she just stands _there_ a thousand times stronger than him. The tears are back, welling in his eyes and clouding up his vision. 

“What?” she asks, as if she were scared of having heard him wrong. When he doesn’t reply, her hand comes to rest at his pulse point, eliciting a shiver down his spine. She sighs. “Ben, you’ve already lost a lot of blood today–”

He chokes out a sob. “ _Please_ ,” he croaks, his cock twitching, there where it’s buried deep within her. Her fingers tremble against his pulse point. “Please. I need it. I need _you_. Please, just, just–” He shudders. “Please, I just want to be _yours_.”

The sudden roll of her hips takes him by surprise. She starts moving again, a frantic pace that turns him boneless, as licks of flame start to climb up his spine. Her hand settles on the place where his neck meets his shoulder, fingers curving around his muscles, and her eyes flit between his face and his throat and he wonders if she’ll bite him and then – then, she _does_. 

She leans in and sinks her sharp teeth in his skin and–

He comes. The pleasure isn’t just fire licking up his spine – it’s an inferno, white-hot and incandescent, burning through him as if it wanted to consume him, turning him into something different. A sharp cry escapes his lips and he can’t do anything but hold onto her and murmur her name and come, come, _come,_ emptying himself inside of her. It feels like it goes on forever and when he thinks he’s done, he feels her clench and clamp around him as she comes too, and he feels his cock twitch, the last tendrils of pleasure spreading through him like fireworks underneath his skin.

It’s – it’s like a _revelation_ , this pleasure.

He’s not aware of how much time passes until he comes back to himself. It could be a minute, it could be a lifetime. All he knows is that Rey’s there and she’s holding him through it, murmuring sweet nonsense against his forehead as she litters his skin in little kisses, and only after a few moments he realizes that she’s whispering his name, she’s telling him how good he’s been, how perfect he is, how pretty he looks when he comes. How she wants to keep him forever. What a mess he’s made of her. He whimpers and he’s pretty sure he’s crying, but she’s there. 

She’s always _there_.

Then, after a few moments, Rey rests her forehead against his. “Hey,” she murmurs, wiping the tears away from the corners of his eyes. “How are you feeling? That was a bit–” She scrunches up her nose in that adorable way of hers. “Intense.”

He opens his mouth, but he can’t remember how to talk. He knows he supposedly knows how to, but yet, words elude him at this moment, and the only thing he manages to let out is an awed, “I love you.”

This elicits a soft, silvery giggle from her. “I love you too, sweetheart,” she tells him, and oh, he feels himself shiver. “But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you okay?”

He nods. That’s all he can manage right now. His body doesn’t belong to him anymore – it’s a boneless heap of pleasure and satisfaction, and maybe dizziness. He’s not sure. There’s a lot going on at the moment.

“Yes,” he replies, then, when he remembers how his mouth works. “I think– I just need to lie down a bit. You have probably broken me. It may take me a moment.”

She strokes his hair with utter tenderness, then gets off his lap, sinking in the couch next to him and resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she murmurs, planting a kiss to his shoulder. “We have all the time in the world.”

That sounds _great_. His eyes start to flutter closed, but he tries his best to stay awake. “I have a few questions,” he announces, after a few seconds.

“You can ask them tomorrow,” she tells him, poking his side. He feels a breathless laughter escape his lips. “Now, you need to take a shower, maybe eat something and then go to sleep like a good human.”

He can’t really argue with her. He feels dazed and sleepy and he knows it’s probably from the loss of blood, but he also likes to think this is the effect Rey has on him. Quite literally, probably, since she’s the reason for his loss of blood anyway. 

“Wait,” he says, then, furrowing his brow and searching her face as if all the answers to the universe’s mysteries were written in the pattern of freckles on the bridge of her nose. Maybe they are. For him, at least. “Do _you_ sleep?”

If she thinks this is a stupid question, she doesn’t show it.

“Sometimes.” She shrugs, her hand coming to rest on his chest, cool and gentle against his heated skin. “I– I don’t need that much sleep, but I found myself sleeping every now and then ever since I’ve started to spend the night here. You– you make me feel safe.”

This woman. This wonderful, otherworldly, _extraordinary_ woman.

“Oh,” is the only thing he manages to say, because he doesn’t know how to convey it all – the absolute wonder he feels in his bones every time he looks at her and thinks that, in a world and a time full of people, she’s chosen _him_. His breath hitches in his throat at the thought and he comes to caress her arm, which is all he can manage at the moment. “And what about the sunshine? Do you, like, turn to dust? Or do you–”

“Are you about to ask me if I sparkle?”

He was. “Nope,” he replies, curving his lips in what he hopes is an innocent-looking smile. “Just curious.”

She flashes him a look that tells him she knows. “I don’t _sparkle_ ,” she tells him, poking him again. “And I don’t turn into dust, either. It suppose it’s more like a thousand needles pressing down on my skin, you know? I can survive, but it’s not pleasant.” His fingers come to graze against her skin, his hands splaying protectively over her arm, as if to shield her, even though it’s night. “Now, shower. Food. Sleep. Come on.”

A really undignified whine rises from his throat. “Wait, one last question,” he pleads. She stares at him, expectantly. “Can you read my thoughts?”

A chuckle slips past her lips and it floods his chest with tenderness. Warmth. Love. All the things he never thought he’d get. 

“You really need to stop using _Twilight_ as your only source of information about vampires,” she teases him, with a smirk that he’d like to kiss silly. He doesn’t have the energy to do just that, so he settles for looking at her with an awestruck expression on his face. “No, Ben, I can’t read your thoughts. Now, let’s get you in the shower.”

He feels himself already slipping. He’s just so _tired_ – his eyes flutter closed and his mind starts to drift away, and yet, he still manages to utter, a pout on his lips “I want to know you.” 

He can _hear_ the smile spreading on her face. “I know,” she murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. “But we have the eternity for that.” 

Yes, he thinks as sleep finally claims him and he sinks into Rey’s embrace, the eternity will do. 

**Author's Note:**

> for more nonsense, you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/akosmia) and [tumblr](http://kylorensx.tumblr.com)


End file.
